To the next searchers

I am anonymous archaeology
In the fields of Flanders,
My shell-stripped bones
Are scattered compass points
Marking buried horizons with
Shards of silent remembrance.
My eye orbit looks back at
The new volunteer, brash
And cocky like the little
Lad I once was, running
Through the cruel armour
Of the summer pastures.
My lower jaw chatters patriotically
As it did in the King's Arms,
Hark the bell for last orders,
'Time gentlemen please',
My lower jaw chatters nervously
Before I go over the top,
Hark the whistle for last orders,
'Time gentlemen please'.
My forefinger points to searchers
Looking for names and clues
In the ley lines and on the
Bleached standing stones,
Where is the lost civilisation
They ask?

They ask
And I cannot tell them.

I am anonymous archaeology
In the fields of Flanders.

Poetry by Christopher Fernie
Read 179 times Editors' choice Written on 2017-07-31 at 12:19